‘Hot damn,’ he exclaims and starts pressing buttons on the remote so fast it’s a wonder his fingers don’t catch fire. Anxiety releases my body from its tight furl, and I burst into hysterics, my limbs loosening to liquid proportions. I render up so much control I start slipping, like butter off a baking tray. My butt slides down the leather couch, and I hit the floor with a bump.
‘Shit, Norah.’ In a blink he’s kneeling beside me. ‘Are you okay?’ He reaches out, hands hovering close, but not quite close enough to touch. I look at him through floods of tears. Happy tears. Hilarious tears. I’ve never laughed so hard I’ve cried before. I can’t talk, so I just nod. He shakes his head, starts chuckling. He gets comfortable on the carpet beside me and I’m glad I used Mom’s expensive, coconut-scented shampoo.
‘My stomach hurts,’ I tell him, rubbing muscles that have been asleep for way too long.
‘I bet. You’ll have a six-pack tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know why people do sit-ups when laughing is so much fun.’
‘People are crazy.’ He excuses them with a shrug.
‘What about me? Do you think I’m crazy?’ I’m half teasing, half testing him.
‘I think you’re beautiful. And smart. And funny.’ He gets an A plus. I flush, my insides going gooier than our ice cream leftovers. In my head I’m rolling around in green fields; my sky is pink, the sun is made of gold glitter. But then, a grey storm cloud rolls in, smothers my sweet sky with thunder.
He didn’t say no.
‘I . . . I . . .’ I stutter. It’s a small voice, but it cancels out his compliments in one swoop.
‘What’s—’ A bang, like a gunshot, cuts his question in half. My bones leap from my body and my heart trips. I brace for the apocalypse, an infestation of zombies, a tumbling meteor, World War X breaking out right here in Triangle Crescent.
‘Norah, it’s okay. Look.’ I didn’t notice Luke stand up, but I find him by the window, the curtain peeled back. He’s looking at the sky. ‘Fireworks,’ he says as three more bangs cut right through me. I jump again and my teeth catch my tongue.
‘It’s not July Fourth,’ I say, like he doesn’t already know this, like I don’t already know this.
‘Come take a look.’ He’s all excited. I feel afraid. ‘Wait. Our first fireworks display. We need a better view.’ What I need is the couch and the coffee table to help me stand. He speeds off into the hall; the lock on the front door clicks, and I hear the bolt grind as he pulls it back.
Has he gone? Did he forget that I can’t follow?
I lean left until I can see the front door. It’s wide open and he’s just standing there, leaning up against the jamb. Outside is like a light show; every bang creates a new colour. In my head I see the photos on Amy’s Hub profile, consider that if she were here instead of me, she’d take total advantage of this situation. Probably snatch his hand, drag him outside, curl up against him while they watch the sky. Fireworks are romantic. I’ve seen that exact scenario unfold on YouTube kissing videos. The thought carries me cautiously towards the porch. I fall in beside Luke, too wobbly to stand, too caught up in acting normal to suggest we close the door in case one of those babies gets loose and flies straight for us. My knees buckle, and I sit on the floor, legs crossed, on the inner side of the step.
‘Are we okay to watch?’ he asks. I think of the party he’s not at, the measly few minutes he spent with his friends on a Friday night.
‘Sure.’ I owe him at least ten more minutes of normal. Just keep breathing.
But something doesn’t feel right. My mind is attempting sabotage, refusing to find the beauty, the fun, the excitement in watching what are essentially pretty explosives.
Luke sits on the floor beside me, plants his feet on the porch, talks about how he hasn’t seen fireworks since last year.
‘What about New Year’s Eve?’ I only ask because I distinctly remember that night being one of the loudest. I spent it cowering under my duvet, eating potato chips and mainlining rock music.
‘Fell asleep before midnight watching a SpongeBob marathon. Forever one of the cool kids.’
He turns, winks at me, then spins back to look at the sky. He makes me smile.
I fix my sights on his profile. His jaw is so sharp, I think if I ran a finger over it, I’d cut myself.
‘I’d like to go to Times Square one New Year,’ he says. ‘Just to see what all the fuss is about.’
‘Yes.’ I sigh. I mean, right now I couldn’t think of anything more terrifying, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about being there before.
‘We should go.’ Luke is suddenly so animated, it’s a wonder the fireworks aren’t watching him. ‘I bet we could get a couple of free flights off my mom,’ he tells me.
Interesting, but irrelevant. I laugh a fake laugh; there’s nothing funny about my desolate future.
He turns to look at me; I wonder if my face has fallen as much as his.
‘What? You don’t want to go? Or maybe you don’t want to go with me?’ Did he take a bump to the head when I wasn’t looking? Maybe the obnoxious fumes the fireworks are spreading have gotten him a little confused.